


He shouldn't but he does

by Razr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Rough Sex, theres feelings if you squint hard enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razr/pseuds/Razr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is the drug that Stiles shouldn't want or need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He shouldn't but he does

**Author's Note:**

> I was getting upset at work so I wrote sex instead. 
> 
> I haven't written anything in a long time so this was fun! I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. I tried to go through and fix them, but I'm sure there's some left. 
> 
> I might expand it into a full story later on, but I have other full length ones attempting to work on. 
> 
> This is 100% 1,000 words of sex. Enjoy.

"Oh, god..."

He should not be doing this.

"Fuck, oh fuck..."

On the list of things he should never do, he's pretty sure this is number one.

"Oh go-" 

He chokes on the air, he can't breath. His chest is heaving in useless gulps, every muscle in his body is shaking from being strung for too long. He feels like his body weighs a thousand pounds, yet he's floating. 

He registers the chuckle that comes from somewhere around his thigh. Somewhere is his brain, he thinks he's going to have hickies all over his thighs. That thought shouldn't make him happy. 

"Stiles. " He hears the steady voice near his head. Huh, when did he move. He can't see anything; his eyes are glued shut. 

"Stiles," he hears again, the voice smooth and low. "Open your eyes, little one, look at me." 

He can't, he doesn't have enough brain power to perform such a simple task. His eyes open without his command. He sees blue eyes staring down at him. Blue, so blue, can't be human- "Peter."

"There you are," Peter says with a smile. His voice is calm and steady, an anchor for Stile to latch on to so he doesn't float away. "Breath, Stiles, slowly, in and out."

His body follows Peter's command, better than it ever does his own. He breathing slows, becomes easier, and Stiles realises how close he was to blacking out. 

"That's it, that's a good boy." Amusement ever present is peter's voice. "I would prefer for you to be awake for this."

Stiles just nods, can't bring himself to do anymore movement than that. 

Peter smirks down at him. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asks, low in a way that should be menacing. Instead, Stiles wanst to beg and plead. All he does is nods. 

"Say it." There's a growl in Peter's voice that Stiles feels he shouldn't be so familiar with. "Say you want it, say you want me to fuck open on my cock, fuck you until you come just from that." 

"Please," he moans out, his body doing Peter's bidding before his brain can send the command. "Please, Peter, fuck me. God, please-"

Stiles' begging is cut off by Peter puling his three fingers out and thrusting his cock into Stiles, bottoming out in one movement. It always surprises Stiles how good it feels, how amazing it is to be spread out and filled by Peter. Over and over, he tells himself that he should not want this, that he should find someone nice and safe. And boring, his helpful brain always supplies. 

And that's the problem. He doesn't want safe or nice or boring. He's the teenager that went into the woods to find a dead body. He's the boy that confronted an alpha werewolf with nothing more than a risky chemical mixture in a beaker. He's the human that faces down monsters and demons. When he found out that things really do go bump in the night, instead of running like a smart, normal person would, he bumped back. To anyone that was paying attention, they would know that Stiles thrives on the fear and adrenaline. He craves it worse than any drug. And it's Peter that gives him the perfect mixture of fear and excitement, pleasure and pain. 

Peter doesn't give him time to adjust or think, almost never does, before he starts a fast and hard pace. There are claws digging into his hip, a voice spilling filth in his ear, and it's perfect. He's addicted to this, he knows he'll never get enough. He could die just from this and feels like that's a perfectly acceptable way to go. 

Peter is pounding into him, just this side of painful, hitting his prostate every other thrust. Stiles feels like he suspended again; he never wants to come down. 

It could have been seconds or hours before Peter started growling, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates through Stiles. It always happens, and it always brings him that much closer to the edge. Stiles often wonders what that says about him, that he finds that fucking growl so damn hot. 

It doesn't take long until Stiles is right there, right on the edge of the cliff and he just needs one push to send him over. Peter knows he's there, knows it in the way Stiles' body is convulsing, the way his mouth refuses to work right so he can form full words. 

"Come on, Stiles," Peter growls in his ear. "Come for me, little one. Come on my cock."

And that's it, that demand is the push that Stiles needs. Stiles is coming, shooting all over himself and Peter, clenching down on Peter's cock. Peter slows down finally, but doesn't stop. He drags slowly in and out if Stiles, prolonging his pleasure. "Do you want me to stop?" Peter asks, dragging clawed fingertips through the mess of come on Stiles chest. 

Stiles shakes his head. "No," he answers when he finds his voice. "Use me, Peter. Come inside of me, make me smell like yours." 

His voice is harsh and raspy, making him sound wrecked. And he is. Peter looks down at Stiles, covered in come and sweat, looking like he's ready to pass out from over use. The words and the sight drive Peter to moving, speeding up and fucking into Stiles again. He doesn't last much longer, coming inside of Stiles with a howl. He rests his weight of top of Stiles. He knows he should move, should pull out and get them cleaned up so that they aren't uncomfortable later. If he doesn't, they'll fall sleep and Stiles will bitch Peter about how they stink and Peter will tell him that they smell perfect. It wouldn't be the first time. 

Stiles knows he shouldn't be happy like this, shouldn't be content to lay here with a psychotic werewolf in his arms, but he is and he doesn't have the energy to give a fuck right now. He knows Peter want to move so he wraps his arms around Peter to let him know that he wants him to stay. It also shouldn't make him happy that Peter does.


End file.
